


Sooner or Later

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 10:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16763359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: You’ve been staring at Dean across the bar for the last ten minutes. He can feel it.He can feel your eyes on him like it’s a physical touch, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the rest of the night like this without pushing you against the nearest flat surface.Dean’s POV. The tension between the reader and Dean finally reaches a breaking point.





	Sooner or Later

**Author's Note:**

> The one word prompt was “touch”. This one is in Dean’s POV. The tension between the reader and Dean finally reaches a breaking point. Warnings: Language, light smut, Dean’s filthy mouth.

You’ve been staring at Dean across the bar for the last ten minutes. He can _feel_ it. 

He can feel your eyes on him like it’s a physical touch, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the rest of the night like this without pushing you against the nearest flat surface.

He can’t remember the last time he let nothing but pure sexual tension get him so worked up. He feels like a teenager, but he almost doesn’t want it to stop. He lets his own eyes wander over you for a half second, feeling himself grow hard when he watches your eyes darken and sees you bite your lower lip.

He thought getting out of the bunker to get away from researching what Lucifer might be up to would be good for everyone, but he’s starting to regret it.

It’s not like– he doesn’t regret being out with you. He could never regret that. He really loves spending time with you. You and he share a bond that he’s never really had with anyone before. Besides Sam, you’re his best friend. 

It’s just that he didn’t really expect _this_. You came out of your bedroom at the bunker looking like a total knockout (and you always do, if Dean’s being honest with himself) and so he flirted a little. This time, you flirted back. Not only that, but you’ve been giving him these _looks_ all night that are driving him absolutely crazy.

He’s watched you turn down guy after guy, your eye almost never leaving him, and it’s ignited something possessive inside him that he tries every single day to tamp down when he’s around you. 

Your eyes are dark and sparkling in the dim lighting of the bar, and he swears he can feel it every time you look him up and down. A warm feeling is spreading through him, and when he looks back at you, he curses under his breath when he realizes you don’t have a drink in front of you. In fact, he’d wager you haven’t had a drop to drink all night, making whatever’s happening here even more potent. It’s all you.

This isn’t the first time he’s felt this way about you. Since you met, there’s been _moments_ , like those cheesy rom-com moments he hates so much. Somehow, with you, he doesn’t hate them quite as much. 

Turns out Dean Winchester kind of lives for the quiet moments in between hunts when the two of you cook together, or watch a movie together, or even just go for a walk or a drive. He can talk to you like he can’t talk to his brother, and it’s done wonders for his mental health.

There’s also the issue of the _tension_. He’s been dancing around it for months, hoping it was just due to close quarters, but so far it hasn’t gone away. He’s not stupid - he knows you’re beautiful. He thought that the minute he met you, when he and Sam rescued you from a vamp nest that was larger than you had bargained on.

So, yeah. He’s accepted that he’s attracted to you. He’s accepted that you seem to be attracted to him, too. What he’s _not_ used to is having your attention on him like this, like there’s nothing else in the world you’d rather be doing but staring at him in a bar. It’s intoxicating, really, and thinking that if the buildup is this good… _Jesus_. He almost can’t even think about the follow through.

A shudder runs through him just at the idea of you wrapped around him in every way possible.

When he suggested going out earlier, you’d almost jumped up and down in excitement, and he’d laughed with you, telling you to hurry up and get ready before he left without you, and you’d snarked right back, and he was so content he could hardly stand it.

“Dean.” Sam appears at Dean’s elbow, getting his attention. “I’m heading back, gonna walk. I just– I can’t really focus on having a good time.” He smiles apologetically. “I’ll see what else I can dig up and then call it an early night.” 

Dean nods. “Whatever, man. Don’t work too hard.” 

Sam smiles wryly. “Yeah.” His eyes flick over you, watching as you slide off the barstool and head towards the boys. “You either.” 

Dean gulps as he watches you come closer, taking a swig of his beer. “God help me.” 

“Hey.” You say when you get close enough, watching Sam head out the door. “He can’t _not_ work, can he?” You smile, and Dean feels his knees go a little weak at the sight. 

“Guess not.” He looks you over, admiring the way your jeans cling to you and the way he can _just_ see the skin of your chest through the sheer lace of your top. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I feel great.” You say, your eyes boring into his, and he knows this is it. This is the edge of something. “Nice to have a night off.” 

Dean hums in agreement. 

“I’ve missed hanging out, just the two of us.” You say, and he looks you in the eyes for the first time in a few minutes, his heart coming down from overdrive. 

“Me too. Sorry if I’ve been–” he waves a hand around, “if I’ve been distracted. Just, this stuff with Lucifer, it reminds me of when Sam–”

“I know.” You say, putting your hand over his on the bar. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know I wasn’t around when all that went down, but you don’t have to talk about it, not if it makes you freak out.”

You’re so understanding, it kind of floors him. It’s no wonder he likes you, he thinks, because you’re just so _kind_. Dean’s not sure he deserves it anymore, but the way you’re looking at him, the way you care about him so much… it makes him even crazier for you.

“Kid…” Dean says, wondering why he’s feeling like he can’t get a word out; why he can’t even _think_. You’re just– you’re just consuming his every thought to the point where he can’t string a coherent sentence together. “You gotta stop looking at me like that.” He says, finally. His voice is like gravel. 

“Like what?” You ask, but the coy smile on your face says you know exactly what he’s talking about.

He scoots closer to you until your legs are in between his. He stands, keeping your bodies close. “Like you would let me take you right here in the middle of this bar if I tried to.” He rasps, and his eyes slide shut involuntarily when you let out this _noise_ , this little whimper. 

“Dean. Let’s go. Let’s leave.” 

Dean meets your eyes, searching them carefully, because he can’t fuck this up. You’re too important to him to have this be a one-time thing, or something that happens because you’re both hard up for it. He wants you to want him just as badly as he wants you. 

“Look, I’m–” you run your hands through your hair, searching for the right words. “I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want you.” You tell him, breathless, and that’s all he needs to hear.

He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together as he tugs you behind him towards the exit. You walk quickly to the Impala, but before you get inside, Dean can’t take it anymore. He steps close to you, close enough to hear your breath hitch, and seals his mouth over yours, his hands framing your face.

You moan, the sound going straight to Dean’s groin. He kisses you almost frantically, trying to tell himself to slow down, but unable to concentrate on anything except the way you taste, smell, and feel. He presses you against the passenger side door, mouth sliding from yours to drag down your jaw and the smooth column of your neck, that warm feeling from earlier coming back with a vengeance as he hums in satisfaction against your skin. 

“I’ve wanted you forever.” Dean tells you, quietly, his voice a low rumble next to your ear as his lips find your neck and his hand skims along the bottom of your shirt. “You’re just so– you’re gorgeous and such a badass.” 

You chuckle against him. “If that’s your kind of dirty talk, I am totally on board.” 

Dean pulls back to smile at you, amazed that even during this pivotal moment in your relationship, you’re still able to joke and banter like you always have. He takes it as a good omen. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” He says, grinning wolfishly at you. His kisses trail towards your collarbone, and the hand that was lingering near your hemline delves inside, causing you to gasp. “Don’t hold back from me.” He says. “I want to hear every little noise, want to see it on your face.”

Dean’s own body feels on fire, all from the most basic touch from you. He wonders if it’s always going to be like this now that he knows what your touch is like, what you feel like in his arms. Your touch is setting him on fire, the blood singing in his veins, sizzling through his body. 

He wants you so badly it aches. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, not wanting to do anything to make you hate him, anything to make you stop touching him, as he feels one of your hands run through his hair.

“ _Please.”_ You say, and he groans, feeling like he’s going to come apart at any second. “Please touch me. Dean, I– I want–”

Dean’s hand slides into your jeans, rubbing you gently over the fabric of your underwear, and he hums against the skin of your neck when you melt against him, your knees giving out. “Gonna make you feel good.” He promises.

Dean’s arm is banded tight around your back, holding you upright, and he only slows down because he realizes that you’re still outside where anyone can see. He doesn’t really have a voyeurism kink, and he suspects neither do you, so he slows down until you’re both panting against each other, hands wandering but not much else.

“Let’s go home.” He says, and you nod against him.

He breaks a few laws on the way back to the bunker, but he can’t help it, because you’re right up next to him on the bench seat, your hand on his leg, rubbing slow circles that are driving him insane. 

“If I crash this car, you’re going to be in trouble.” He threatens, though there’s no heat behind it. 

“Hurry up, then.” You say, and he groans. 

When he finally pulls in the garage, he turns to you quickly, pulling you in for a deep kiss that leaves you both moaning. “Can’t wait to have you in my bed.” He tells you, and you smile. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He opens the driver’s door quickly, seeing you do the same on the other side, and then you’re almost racing each other through the bunker, your breathless laugh spurring him on. 

He presses you against the door when you get there, both of you just breathing the other one in for a moment as you catch your breath. “Wanna make you feel good.” He whispers, and you arch against him. 

“Yes.” 

He’s got you half on the bed before he can fully comprehend what’s happening, and even when he does, the entire thing still feels surreal. He’s going crazy with need, need for you and the way it feels when you touch him, and wants to make you feel crazy like this too. He wants you to feel exactly how he feels right now.

His mouth is everywhere - on your jaw, your neck, mouthing a long line across the swell of your collarbones as he bends down to get his mouth everywhere he can reach. You’re arching against him, the press of your chest against his making him grunt in satisfaction against your skin. 

His hands travel over you, up and under your shirt, and he feels sparks where his fingers dance over your ribcage, and he thrusts against you a few times, unable to help himself. He wants to slow down, take his time, but he can’t. He wants to lose himself in you until he forgets his own name.

“Dean, please, more.” You whimper, and he groans.

“Goddamn, kid. You’re _so_ – tell me what you want.”

“Been thinking about this all night.” You admit, and he thrusts against you again, the friction too good.

“Let me have you. Please, let me have you.” He says, barely aware of what he’s saying, only that he’ll go insane if he doesn’t get inside of you soon.

Clothes are practically torn off, and when it finally, _finally_ comes together for both of you, when Dean slowly pushes inside of you and feels you stretch and pulse around you, he wonders if he isn’t half in love with you already.

“Fuck me,” he mutters as he settles, waiting for you to adjust. “You feel so good.” 

“Move, Dean. Please, move.” 

Dean leans down to lick a long line up the column of your neck until he reaches your mouth, and when his tongue thrusts inside your mouth, he finally moves, and you cry out against his lips, the sound making him groan as he feels your hands run over his back. 

“That’s it.” He says, almost unaware of what he’s saying. “That’s it, baby. Come on, let me hear you. I wanna hear you.” 

You’re both on the edge after only a few minutes, and Dean is nearly mindless with lust as you wrap your legs around his hips, causing him to sink just _that much_ deeper into you, to a place where you both see stars. “Fuck, kid. Right there.” 

Soon you’re coming, and he’s right behind you, your name escaping him on a groan as he empties himself on your stomach, the aftershocks seemingly lasting forever. 

“You’re a cruel woman.” He tells you, breathless.

“I beg your unbelievable pardon,” you say, and he laughs.

“You had this planned the entire night, didn’t you?”

You shrug. “Someone had to make a move.” 

He shakes his head, fond. “Amazing. You’re amazing.” 

“Back atcha, Winchester.” You tell him, and he pulls you against him, eyes closing as sleep drifts over you both.

.

In the morning, Dean is half convinced he dreamed the entire thing when he wakes up and doesn’t find you there in bed next to him. It’s not – he doesn’t feel clingy, not really, but he was really looking forward to waking you up with his mouth and his hands, hoping to pull some more of those noises out of you.

His door opening drags him out of his thoughts, and his heart clenches when you come inside, his t-shirt on, two steaming mugs of coffee in your hands.

“I hope you’re appreciating this,” you say, handing him a mug as he sits up, “because Sam just gave me _so much_ shit.”

Dean grins. “C’mere.” He says, making space for you on the bed. His heart is full to bursting at the sight of you in his clothes.

You settle in next to him, and his arm goes around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side. The heat of you sets his blood on fire again, and he knows it won’t be long until he has to have you again.

You’ve brought the paper with you, and you settle in, you and Dean each reading a section as you drink coffee, stealing looks at each other every few minutes. Dean admires the way you look with your hair piled on top of your head, his shirt sliding off one shoulder, and thinks he could get used to this

**Author's Note:**

> You can read more of my work + send me prompts on [my blog!](http://sunlightdances.tumblr.com)


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